Emerson's Fury : L.B. Pavlov (5 page)

“You start,” he said, and he looked at me intensely.

“Anything?” I asked again, just to double check that nothing was off limits.

“As long as I can ask you anything as well,” he assured me.

“That’s fine with me. And you have to answer completely honestly,” I said, growing more excited to find out everything that I wanted to know about Cross Tarantino.

“I will always be honest with you,” he said fervently, and the way he said it sent a jolt through me.

“OK. Me too,” I said nervously.

“Sounds fair,” he declared. “What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start simple. Favorite sport?” I asked, waiting to see how deep I could go once we got started.

“Football. Yours?”

“Running.”

“Do you compete?” he asked quickly.

“Yes. I run track in the spring.”

“What events do you run?”

“The eight hundred meter, sixteen hundred meter, and the thirty-two hundred meter. And you just asked three in a row,” I said matter-of-factly.

He started to laugh. “Sorry. One more, and then you can do a couple.”

“OK.”

“What do you run the mile in?” he asked, and I could tell that he was trying to gauge if I was any good.

“Four forty-six,” I answered, and a look of shock came over his face.

“Four forty-six or five forty-six?” he said, obviously surprised by my answer.

“Four forty-six,” I repeated, staring into those deep-blue eyes.

“Interesting…” he said, looking onto the field. I had clearly impressed him, and I loved it.

“My turn,” I said. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope. Just me.”

“Where are your mom and dad?” I decided to go ahead and ask, because I was curious.

“My dad passed away before I was born. My mom has been in and out of prison and rehab since I was born. Currently she is out, and I see her a couple times a week.” When he had finished, he turned to see my reaction.

“I’m sorry about your dad. And I’m sorry about your mom. But I’m glad that you have nice grandparents,” I said, giving him a heartfelt look.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Please don’t ever feel sorry for me. There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he said, his tone hard.

“OK. Am I asking too personal of questions?” I inquired.

“Not for me,” he said, staring back out at the field.

My dad had walked out on the field, and our whole box was going crazy. I pulled my chair closer to the window to watch, and Cross did the same thing.

“Do you go to a lot of games?” he asked.

“I go to every game,” I said eagerly. “I love to watch my dad play.”

“Is that why you don’t run cross-country?” he asked.

I turned to look at him, kind of surprised by his insightfulness. No one except the cross-country coach ever asked me that. Cross was smart. He knew a lot about sports obviously.

“Yes,” I said, smiling at him.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked. For some reason he caught me off guard, and I almost choked on my water.

“You can ask about my parents that abandoned me, but you choke when I ask if you have a boyfriend?” he said, as we both burst out laughing.

“Fair enough. No boyfriend. How about you?” I asked nervously.

“Nope, no boyfriend,” he said with a smirk on his face.

“Very sharp. OK. Do you have a girlfriend?” I asked.

“No,” he answered, and we regarded each other for a long moment before he turned to look back out the window.

“Pets?” I inquired. The change in topic made him laugh.

“Nope,” he answered. “But I’d love to get a dog someday,” he added readily. “Do you have any pets?”

“Yes. Two dogs: Ollie and Lulu,” I said, staring out the window at my father as he got ready for his next play.

Just then my Uncle Jack came over to ask if we needed anything and let us know the food was ready. “Oh, thanks, Uncle Jack. We will go load up in a few minutes,” I said, turning to look at him.

“So, Cross, did you take my niece to homecoming last night?” he asked sweetly, clearly unaware that this was
not
my homecoming date. I felt my whole body go rigid as he said it, because it would definitely make everyone feel awkward once Cross answered.

“No, I don’t go to school with Emerson, sir. I go to Mt. Horizon,” he said quietly. Something about the way he answered made me think he was upset.

My Uncle Jack looked mortified, and he gave me an apologetic smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. If you guys need anything, it’s all out and ready for you,” he said, and he walked away, looking sheepish.

Cross did not wait more than two seconds after my uncle walked away before he said, “I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend?”

“I don’t,” I said honestly.

“Who did you go to homecoming with?” he asked, and he turned to look me in the eyes.

“Johnny Coletti. He’s a good friend,” I said.

“Does Johnny Coletti want to be your boyfriend?” he asked with a smirk on his face. “And remember, we said we’d be honest.”

“I think so. But he knows that I don’t want to be more than friends,” I said truthfully.

“Did you go to homecoming?” I decided to ask because we seemed to be holding nothing back now.

“Yes. Last weekend,” he replied.

“Who did you go with?” I asked, and for some reason, my tone was snappish. How could I be jealous? I didn’t even know him last weekend.

“Christine Santos. She’s a friend,” he said, his smirk turning into a smile.

“Does Christine Santos want to be more than friends?” I said, laughing, as I copied his line of questioning.

“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Maybe I should introduce her to Johnny Coletti,” I said, and we both burst out laughing.

We stopped to get some food and talk with my grandparents. When we walked back to our seats, he asked if my Grandma Hollingsworth was the Grace that I was named after. I looked kind of confused, so he elaborated. “Your mom called you Emerson Grace the other night. Are you named after Grace Hollingsworth?”

“Oh, yes. I forgot she said that. She only calls me that when I’m in trouble,” I said, laughing.

“Are you in trouble often?” he asked, raising one eyebrow and scrutinizing me curiously.

“No! But my mom is a worrier. So, if I’m thirty seconds late or I run a little longer than I planned on running, I’m Emerson Grace,” I explained.

“Got it. My grandmother is a bit of a worrier,” he commiserated.

“It must be a mother thing,” I added.

I noticed Cross was looking over at his grandfather, clearly wondering if he was OK.

“Why don’t we go over and check on him? Make sure he’s doing OK,” I said, standing up.

“OK. Thanks.”

We sat with Cross’s grandfather for quite a while. He was the sweetest man. He obviously adored Cross and was very proud of him. He asked me all sorts of questions, and he was so genuine and easy to talk to.

Cross’s grandfather became engrossed in a conversation with Grandpa Karl and Lammie, so Cross and I went back to our seats after we piled our plates with desserts. We were screaming and cheering for my dad, and the Colts were ahead by two touchdowns.

“Your dad’s pretty amazing,” he commented.

“He really is,” I agreed proudly.

“Are you guys close?” he inquired.

“Very.”

“How many siblings do you have? I met Finn; do you have any others?” he asked.

“I have an older brother, Indy. He’s a freshman at Notre Dame.”

“Does he play football?”

“No. He’s a musician. He’s super talented,” I said proudly.

“That’s cool,” he said, and you could tell he genuinely meant it.

“Do you like to race, or do you get nervous for races?” he asked, curious to see my response.

“I love to race,” I said enthusiastically.

“A lot of people get nervous for races. What do you like about racing?” he pressed.

“Winning,” I said honestly.

He stared at me for a long moment. He was definitely trying to figure me out.

“My turn,” I said.

“OK.”

“You have a small cut under your right eye. Not a football injury. What’s it from?” I asked, scrutinizing his reaction.

“How do you know it’s not a football injury?” he asked, testing me.

“Because I know football injuries. That doesn’t look like one. Am I wrong?” I confidently asked.

“Nope. You’re not wrong,” he said nervously, fidgeting in his seat.

“Waiting…” I said, pressing him.

“It’s from a fight,” he finally quietly admitted.

“Were you fighting off Christina?” I asked, trying to lighten his suddenly dark mood.

He burst out laughing and said, “No, I didn’t have to fight off Christina.” He turned to look me in the eyes, and more somberly continued, “I do underground fighting at times. For money.”

“Money for your grandparents?” I asked boldly.

He stared for a long moment out the window, obviously not ready to answer my question. I had definitely entered unchartered waters. I just waited patiently for him to answer.

“No. They don’t know I fight. It’s for my mom,” he said quietly.

“What does she need the money for?” I asked, curious about this odd element in his life.

“To get a car to go to AA meetings. I just got her a car a few weeks ago,” he said, still staring out the window.

“If you already got her a car, why are you still fighting?” I inquired.

“That’s a good question,” he said with a laugh.

“I try to stick to the good ones,” I said in a conspiratorial whisper, and then I laughed with him.

“Well, my mom thinks I can make a lot of money at it. And I’m helping her get on her feet,” he said, turning to again to assess my reaction.

“Interesting,” I remarked.

“What’s interesting about it?” he asked, and his voice was very serious now.

“Well, usually a mom tries to help her child get on his own two feet, not vice versa. Seems like a lot to ask of her child, especially one who is the number one wide receiver in Indiana and contemplating several full-ride scholarships to schools right now. Fighting could jeopardize all of that,” I said, looking him in his beautiful but surprised eyes.

“Someone has done her homework,” he said, smiling at me and seeming utterly impressed with my research.

“Yes, I’m known for that,” I joked.

“It’s a tricky situation with my mom, Emerson. It’s stuff that you probably would never understand. My world is very different from yours. This kind of stuff most likely doesn’t exist in yours, right?” he asked, looking at me in a way that said he knew he was right.

“Someone’s done his homework. How do you know so much about my world?” I snapped back, annoyed. “My world doesn’t have problems because my dad is an NFL quarterback—is that what you’re implying?”

“I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m not saying that you wouldn’t understand my problems, but come on, a drug addict mother, a dead father, grandparents that scrape by every month just to make it? This isn’t stuff you are familiar with, right?” he said. And he was right. That wasn’t stuff I saw every day, but I wasn’t ignorant of it either.

“No. My parents aren’t deceased, nor are they drug addicts. And I agree, I live in a bit of a bubble. But I know that a mom’s job is to protect her child, regardless of being an addict or not. Personally, I don’t think you should jeopardize your future just to make some quick cash. But that’s just my opinion, take it or leave it,” I said, and I turned back to the window.

“I will take that into consideration,” he said quietly.

“You will? Why?” I asked, surprised by his response.

“Because I like you,” he said, and he looked straight out the window. I saw his cheeks turn a little pink, and it was adorable.

I touched his pinkie finger with my pinkie finger. “I like you too,” I said just as quietly.

He didn’t turn to look at me; he kept staring straight ahead. “Even after everything I just told you?” he asked nervously.

“Why would I like you less because of what you just told me? You are fighting to help your mom. That’s very honorable. You adore your grandparents, you work hard at football, and you go with your grandfather to football games. And you’re a fan of my father—what’s not to like?” I said, laughing shyly.

“There’s a lot not to like, Emerson,” he said, turning to look me in the eyes, and I could see the concern when I looked back into his.

“I disagree,” I said confidently.

He took my hand into his, startling me. I felt my body temperature shoot up instantly. His hands were so strong and masculine.

“I think this is a bad idea,” he said, concern for me obvious on his face.

“Why?” I asked, squeezing his hand.

“Too different.” he said, looking away.

“I disagree,” I said, confident again.

“You do that a lot,” he said as he forced himself to look at me.

“Only when you’re wrong,” I said and smiled at him.

We both laughed, and I said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Is there anything left to ask?” he said, laughing some more.

“What are your tattoos of?” I asked, staring at his arm, which was covered by a long-sleeved shirt.

“Oh, you noticed those, did you?” he said with a soft chuckle.

“Yes.”

“I have a couple. My best friend, John, has an older brother who is a tattoo artist. I like to draw, so I draw what I want, and he puts them on my arm. I have some of my favorite scriptures, my grandparents’ names, and a cross on my upper back,” he said, a little uncomfortably.

“I’d love to see them some time,” I said honestly. The thought of his bare, sculpted body made me feel weak in the knees.

“Oh, would you?” he said, grinning at me.

“Well, only if you’re comfortable showing me,” I added nervously.

“Of course, I will show you any time, Emerson,” he said, grasping my hand. I had never liked anyone holding my hand until then. I could have sat there all day holding hands with him. I never wanted that day to end.

“OK, thank you,” I said, smiling at him.

“So, I probably need to get your phone number, huh?” he said, laughing.

“That would be a good idea,” I agreed, trying to contain my excitement.

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